Chapter Thirty-Five
Val walked with Ethan down the hall to the third bedroom to retrieve a disposable cell phone.
This room was all Dirk Reynolds, a man cave that included a closet holding several pairs of camouflage pants and a pair of black tactical vests, a basketball and football in the bookshelves along the wall, a weight rack and bench, tennis racquets, a snowboard and winter outdoor wear, a racy-looking single ski, and a ton of other miscellaneous sporting equipment.
Most noticeable was the heavy steel gun safe nearly as tall as Ethan that dominated one wall. Val figured the fishing rods were out in the garage, along with motorcycle helmets and God only knew what else.
She couldn’t help wondering what Meg would say if she saw all this—which reminded her that she needed to talk to her friend.
Ethan pulled a throwaway phone out of a drawer and handed it over. “It’s untraceable. Dirk keeps a couple of them charged just in case. Program in my number, nine-one-one, and anyone you might want to call.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in the living room on my computer. No e-mails, by the way. And no Facebook, okay?”
She nodded. Ethan walked back out the door, giving her some privacy to use the phone.
She called Mom and Pops first. She had phoned them every day since she’d gotten back to Seattle, but after being shot and nearly killed, she needed to talk to them again.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”
“Hi, honey.” She could almost see her mother’s smiling face, framed by the cloud of silver hair she usually clipped back at the nape of her neck.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” Val said.
Her mother must have caught the tremor in her words. Val could almost feel the mother radar kicking into gear on the other end of the phone.
“What’s going on, sweetheart? Are you okay?”
She wasn’t okay. Today had been a nightmare. So far, she’d been able to control her emotions. Now she was fighting not to burst into tears.
“I’m . . . I’m okay.” Except for being shot. “I just . . . I miss you.”
“Oh, honey. We miss you so much.”
“When are you coming up to see us?” her father asked, picking up the bedroom extension. For once, he was in the house instead of outside working on the farm.
“Well, see, that’s the thing. The police . . . umm . . . may have some more questions for me. They’re still trying to catch the man who killed Delilah Larsen.” And may have shot at Ethan and me this morning.
“Delilah . . . she was that model who was murdered,” Pops said. Tall and thin, with blond hair turning silver, he actually looked like her, though they were not blood relatives.
“Lord, it seems like that happened ages ago,” her mother said.
“I can’t believe they haven’t caught the bastard yet,” Pops grumbled.
“The police are still looking. They’re doing their best, but they might need my help. Or Ethan’s.” She said the name just to hear how her parents would react.
“He’s your bodyguard, right?” her mother asked.
“Yes, but . . . our relationship has gotten a little more complicated lately.”
Silence fell. “Well, it’s about damned time,” her father said. “Beautiful young woman like you. Could have men beatin’ down your door if you wanted. Though I can’t say I’m sorry you been so choosy.”
“I know if he means something to you, he has to be a very special man,” her mother said. “We can’t wait to meet him.”
Some of the tightness loosened in her chest. She thought of Ethan and how much he loved his little girl. She thought of the way he had risked his life for her, thought of the fierce way he protected her.
“He is special, Mom. I’m not sure what’s going to happen between us, but I’d love for you to meet him.”
“Glory hallelujah,” her father said. “And he damned well better be good enough for my little girl.”
Val laughed. It felt unbelievably good. “We aren’t close to getting serious, Pops, so you don’t have to worry. Look, I have to go. We’ll talk again soon, okay? Love you both.”
“Love you, too, honey,” they said in unison, and Val pressed the End button on the phone.
Blinking back tears, she took a minute just to absorb the love they’d sent her with every word they’d spoken.
She had been on her own for years. Been away at college, had her own car, her own home, her own life.
But when things got tough, her parents were the ones she turned to, and they were always there for her.
She sat down on the weight bench to make another call. “It’s me, Meg. Can you talk?”
“I’ve been trying to call you. Your phone keeps going straight to voice mail. Is everything okay?”
“Not exactly. I’m surprised Matt Carlyle hasn’t called.”
“He probably has. Charlie wandered off with my cell phone and I haven’t had time to track it down. What’s going on?”
“You remember I had that anniversary interview for David Klein this morning on the local CBS station?”
“I remember. What about it?”
“Well, when I got back to my house, someone tried to shoot me.”
“What!”
“Or they might have been shooting at Ethan. We don’t know for sure. We’re staying somewhere safe until we can figure things out.”
“Oh my God!”
“I know. I . . . umm . . . got shot in the arm, but I’m okay.”
“You got shot, but you’re okay? Oh my God!”
“Really, it’s all right. Ethan’s guys, his team from La Belle, they’re helping us stay safe. They’re probably outside right now. You have someone there with you, right?”
“Dirk took care of it. There’s a man from Brodie Operations in front of the house twenty-four seven.”
“That’s good. I’m sure your security guard knows about the shooting by now.”
“They’re very efficient.”
“That’s right, and that’s a good thing. If the guy who shot at us is The Preacher, he could be after any of us.”
“Oh, God, I hate this.”
“Me too.”
“At least you have Ethan. Is Dirk there, too?”
“Dirk took his Harley and went out of town for a couple of days. He was hurting, Meg. He didn’t want to lose you.”
“I didn’t want to lose him, either, but . . . I just . . . I did what I had to.” There was no way to miss the tears that sprang into Meg’s voice.
“I know you did. I’m not ready to give up Ethan.
I probably should. I don’t know if it can work.
I don’t know if I can handle his job. All the violence .
. . I’m getting to see it firsthand.” She sighed.
“Maybe I don’t need to worry about it. I really have no idea what Ethan feels for me.
He cares about me, yes. But maybe that’s just his protective instincts kicking in. ”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s in love with you.”
Her stomach clenched. Was it possible? Because it was becoming very clear that she was in love with him. But even if they loved each other, that didn’t mean it would work.
“Does Dirk know about the shooting?” Meg asked.
“Ethan called and told him. As I said, he’s out of town. Ethan’s brother, Luke, says he’ll back Ethan up. I have a feeling Luke’s a very capable man.”
“If he’s anything like Ethan and Dirk, I’m sure he is.”
“As I said, the guy out front probably knows about the shooting, but you might want to make certain.”
“I can see him out the window. I’ll call him.”
“Listen, I’ve got to go. Take this number down. We aren’t using our own phones. We don’t want the people after us using GPS to track us.”
“You don’t want the people after you . . . oh my God! This is all so scary. I can’t help wishing Dirk were here.”
“If you called him—”
“No way. I’m not doing that.”
“All right, I get it.”
“Let me find a pen.” Meg returned and wrote down the number of the throwaway phone. “Call if you need anything—and I mean anything. Okay?”
“Same here.”
“In the meantime, you both stay safe.”
“Thanks, Meg. You, too.” Val disconnected the call and headed back to the living room.
Two days passed. Early morning rain pounded on the roof and a gust of wind rattled the window, rousing Ethan from a deep, erotic dream.
In the dream, Val had awakened him with soft kisses that traveled from his chest to his navel, then went lower.
He could almost feel the silk of her hair brushing his skin as she worked over him.
His morning erection stirred. Something hot and wet licked over his hardened length. Ethan groaned and his eyes cracked open. Not a dream. Better than any dream he’d ever had. His hand slid into Val’s heavy blond hair as she took him into her mouth, laved and teased, and pleasure tore through him.
Jesus God, she was amazing. He clamped down on his control and let her play for a while, enjoying the hot sensations spearing through his body. Then, careful of her arm, he lifted her up and settled her astride him.
“You want to take charge. Go ahead.”
She grinned devilishly, displaying her dimples, then rose up and took him deep, began moving sweetly and driving him insane. Ethan cupped her breasts as she tilted forward, her soft blond curls swinging down, cocooning them both as she rocked back and forth and started to come.
He ground his jaw, caught her hips, and drove into her until she came again, then allowed his own release.
Afterward, she snuggled next to him in the queen-size bed, her back to his front, his arm draped over her waist.
Damn, he was crazy about her. He couldn’t lie to himself any longer.
Hadn’t since the moment he had seen her huddled over his daughter, protecting the child with her life.
He’d figured out early she was nothing like Allison Winfield.
But as bullets flew around them and blood soaked her shirt, he realized that unlike the disdain he felt for Allison, he felt only admiration for Val.
And before Ally had turned his life upside down, Val would have been everything he wanted in a woman.
He wondered what she would say if she knew.
But Val had suffered enough violence in her life and she didn’t want more. She didn’t want a man whose job required him to own a Glock and a tactical vest.
And he wasn’t the kind of man who’d be happy doing anything else.
Ethan sighed into the quiet. He needed to get dressed and get going.
It was almost time for Pete to spell Joe.
Careful to park his vehicle down the lane out of sight, the outside man positioned himself in the location they had chosen, which provided the best vantage point to watch the house.
Every hour, he walked the perimeter, then returned to his place out of sight among the trees.
Ethan had instructed the men to phone if they spotted anything the least bit out of the ordinary. They were not to engage except in self-defense. They were the eyes and ears of the security operation.
Ethan was the primary line of defense.
But two full days had passed since he and Val had taken refuge in the house.
Ethan had gone through each of his old case files and managed to come up with a couple of names, but he didn’t believe the men he’d helped put in jail posed any actual threat.
He had talked to Hoover and given him the names.
Hoover would follow up, but so far the police had come up with squat on the shooter.
Time was ticking away, and though the men on his team hadn’t complained, Ethan couldn’t allow their vigil to go on much longer. The immediate danger was past. He couldn’t stay locked away forever. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could convince Val to stay cooped up either.
In the meantime, he planned to call Luke, ask him to stand in while he did some badly needed legwork. He intended to go back and knock on doors in Val’s neighborhood, see if someone might have remembered something after the police were there.
At least getting out of the house might get his brain working, spur his mind to come up with some fresh ideas. Something that would give them a break in the case.
He showered and pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved thermal in concession to the rainy weather, passed Val as he came out of the bathroom. She went up on her toes and kissed his mouth, then yawned and went in to take her shower.
Her arm was feeling better, she’d said, but every time he thought of how the shot could have been a few inches lower, could have hit some vital part of her body, how the injury could have been fatal, he felt sick to his stomach.
The familiar two-and-one rap at the door told him Luke was outside. He hadn’t phoned his brother yet, but Luke had uncanny intuition.
He figured it was Luke, but when he looked through the peephole, Dirk stood on the porch. Dirk turned and waved to Pete, who was heading up the hill in a dark gray rain slicker to take his shift.
Ethan pulled open the door. “You look like hell,” he said, assessing the three-day growth of beard on Dirk’s face, the water plastering his too-long hair against the dragon tattoo crawling up the side of his neck.
His black leather jacket and denim shirt were soaked, his black leather pants running water all over the floor.
“Yeah, well, I was all the way to hell and gone out in the San Juans when you called two days ago. It was sunny when I left Seattle, rained all the way back. My timing sucks.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, sliding away a palm full of water.
“I shouldn’t have left in the first place, not with everything going on. ”
“There’s nothing you could have done. The shooter came out of the blue.”
“How’s Val? She okay?”
“I’m good,” Val said, walking toward them down the hall in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, her blond hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail on top of her head. Just looking at her made his chest feel tight. “My arm doesn’t hurt much anymore.”
Dirk eyed her gravely. “Jesus, Val.”
“Really, I’m okay.”
“What about Meg?” Dirk asked, clearly worried. “Have you talked to her? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She said you put a man on her house.”
Dirk sighed. “I’d rather it was me, but that isn’t what she wants.”
When Val made no reply, he looked at Ethan. “You think it’s him, The Preacher?”
“Hoover doesn’t think so. He thinks the shooter was aiming at me, not Val. Old case, somebody I pissed off.”
“Yeah? What do you think?”
“Not convinced. Hoping to hear something from Jack Morrell. He’s checking Latham’s connection to South America.”
“South America? You’re still gnawing that bone? You really think this has something to do with drugs?”
“Call it a gut feeling, but yeah, I do. A couple of things turned up while you were gone. Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and we’ll talk?”
“I’ll make some coffee,” Val offered. “And see what there is to eat.”
“Sounds good.” Dirk headed down the hall, his leathers squeaking, black boots muddying up the floor as his long legs carried him into his bedroom.